


We're The Asteroid That's Overdue

by callmehummus



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: Alcohol, Child Abuse, F/M, No Smut, actually well written i promise, lots of tws, tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9737936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmehummus/pseuds/callmehummus
Summary: Hyde should have gone to Fatso Burgers more often.





	1. The Beer I Had for Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry this is terrible, heck i'm so sorry  
> i'm just kind of ignoring that eric worked at fatso burgers for this.

Well, it was a job, it paid. That was what you constantly reminded yourself.

It was the seventies, for crying out loud! The revolution, punk music was everywhere. You were supposed to be out in the middle of it, not supporting a family of eight at the measly age of sixteen. But, you gotta do what you gotta do to make end’s meet.

For you, that’d always been a weird phrase--make end’s meet. It had always been thrown around. For example, just three years ago, your mother shouting “Y/N, get a job! You’re thirteen!” to which you would reply with something along the lines of “Sure.” or “Okay, I’m sorry.” Naturally, growing up learning how to make end’s meet meant there was a long list of things you shouldn’t know, but you did.

You stood up a little less crooked, your back aching. It was a fastfood joint, working the front counter, and your knees were weak since you were a kid--some sort of condition resulting in a protuberance just below the kneecap, and a whole lot of pain when you’re standing for a shift straight. You felt disgusting. The grease that found it’s way into your hair, the smell of fried food that tainted the clothes you wore under your uniform to keep them safe, the dark purple circles under your eyes, everything.

And that’s when the bell just above the door chimed, and a group of kids walked in. They looked roughly your age, and they were just going about the world, having a blast. Oh, how you envied kids like them.

Three of them found a seat, and a boy with a frizzy mess of hair walked up to the counter. He placed his hand on it casually, taking a look at the fluorescent menu board behind you. You sighed, put on your best perky face, and recited the lines you were taught. “Welcome to Fatso-Burger, how may I serve you?” “Oh, yeah, uh--” The boy fumbled over his speech for a moment. He turned around and shouted at the group he’d walked in with, saying “Donna! What’d you want again?!”

“Uh, just a soda, thanks,” The girl mumbled. She was tall, with the kind of long auburn hair that you just want to braid and play with. It wasn’t textured or anything, and it was thick, at least from what you could see. There was a scrawny boy in a button-up sitting next to her, and on the other side of the table, with a darker coloration and black hair. He was shorter than the other boy, with more flashy clothing, and a more flamboyant demeanor. You were snapped out of making mental notes of the other ones by the boy in front, when he began talking. You quickly pressed the buttons (Because, face it, you have the costs memorized from all the time working here) along to what he was ordering, and shout back to the fry cook. The boy thanked you, and walked back over to his friends.

You watched, absentmindedly and oblivious that you were even looking in that direction,  as he leaned over to talk into the darker boy’s ear, who began to snicker in mockery. You weren’t really paying to the conversation, though you were sure it was witty. You’d gone to the same school as these kids forever, never bothering to learn their names. No, you were too focused with learning and coming home, dodging your mom’s swings and verbal lashes, and maintaining a somewhat good standing with kids at school. Before you knew it, their order was sitting on a plastic tray on the counter.

You leaned into the microphone. “Order one-thirty-three.” You mumbled. The same boy who’d ordered at first walked up, his mass of tight curls bouncing slightly. He leaned against the counter, just as before, putting his weight on one leg, obviously trying to act casual.

“So, uh, you work here?” He asked, adjusting his tinted glasses.

You nodded. “Three years this November.”

“Well, uh, maybe I should’a been coming here more. Maybe I’ll see you around,” He glanced at your name-tag, “Y/N.” You were sure that, by the heat you could feel in your cheeks, you were blushing.

“I-I don’t really think that it’s necessary, but feel free to. Here’s y-your order, sir.”

“Oh my God, just call me Hyde.” So _that_ was his name. The boy stood up independently of the counter and grabbed his tray, with loose hands, not the grip so tight that your knuckles go white, just enough to keep from being a butterfingers. He walked back to his table, and you shook your head. _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_


	2. A Bottle of Mad Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the promised basement funtimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> made up address because i'm an idiot and can't remember if it was actually mentioned anywhere.

Friday. Three days since the run in at Fatso Burger. Fifteen minutes left in math class. You had finished up the last few questions out of the workbook, it was easy--pythagorean theorem review. It’s easy. Kiddie stuff.

You stared at the clock. The thought of going home to a cold house and spending another weekend terrified of what would happen if you were in arm’s reach of your mother wasn’t appealing. Ten minutes left. You took a deep breath, and laid your head down on your desk. Learning was fun. Learning was exhilarating for you. But the slow pace, the numskulls you had to call classmates, the constant teasing, made you want to gag on a spoon rather than show up to school. But, of course, your only other option would be dropping out, and that meant you’d never get to leave this town. No, you’d live here and spend the rest of your life seeing your mother’s one-night-stands at the grocery store and working at that dreaded, greasy diner.

Five minutes left. Four. Three. Two. One. And then the bell rang. Your weak knees stalled for a moment upon standing, but you still pushed forward to get out of this god forsaken place. And you didn’t stop pushing until you were in the school’s parking lot, and suddenly confronted by none other than _dear god what’s his name again._

He had the same look he’d had the other day at work, and the same tinted glasses on. Really, nothing had changed, as far as you can remember. “So, uh, listen, y/n, do you wanna maybe hang out with me and a few friends? Just the like, five people. Yeah. You know Forman? It’s at Forman’s house, just the basement. Let’s see, who else? Donna, ” He shuddered, “Jackie and Kelso?” He paused for a second, looking at the ground, then spouted “Oh, and that foreign kid, Fez.”

Well, if there wasn’t anything you loved more than a ton of people who never bothered talking to you. You thought it over, and decided on an answer. You chuckled anxiously. “Surprised you remembered my name. And, I’m sure my mom won’t notice I’m gone. Sounds like a deal. What time? And what’s the address?” Yeah, play it cool.

He answered, “107 Tyler Road, I dunno, 4:30-ish.” He gave a small smirky-smile, the kind that really made you melt. You mentally rolled your eyes at yourself. Stop, he’s just a friend. That’s all he means. Convince yourself of that just like everything else you told yourself.

The dread tugging on your insides was relentless as soon as you registered that you would have to go home first. You piped up, taking a few big steps to catch up with him just after he’d turned to walk away. “Are you going there--I mean, Forman’s house, just after school?”

His body language said dumbfounded, as if you were saying something forward, though his eyes were still concealed under the tinted lenses. “Yeah, probably. Why, you wanna come?” Oh, good. You didn’t have to bring it up.

You stood up a little straighter, smiling and nodding your head enthusiastically, “Yeah, if it won’t be a problem.”

-

And there stood Eric’s house, just as you walked towards it. There wasn’t a smidge of pain in your knees at this point, and even if there was, you were too light in the head with relief and excitement to be focused on it. Hyde walked up the porch, straight out opening the front door. They must be very close, you observed.

You followed in behind him, to an average, cozy home. Hyde led you through the kitchen, where a woman sat, who you politely acknowledged before being led down to a furnished basement, where a few kids from school (Aforementioned Eric, Donna, Jackie, Kelso, and Fez) sat on a well-used couch. At first, they didn’t notice you, and who could blame them? But as soon as someone, a lanky redhead, asked “Who’s this?” a nasally woman’s voice called for Hyde to come upstairs.

-

Just as Hyde made it up the stairs and into where the voice resonated from, Kitty, sitting at the kitchen table, stood up and pushed her chair in. “Steven, who’s that girl?”

He rolled his eyes behind the sunglasses, nodding in a casual manner. He crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. “Y/N.”

Kitty grinned at that, being the knowing woman that she is. “Oh….” She leaned in, whispering, “D’you like her?”

Hyde laughed a little at that, leaning back. “Yeah, as if.”

Kitty put her hands on her hips, and said in a scolding voice, “Well, she seems like a very nice girl. Could stand to eat a little bit more, but then again, let her spend some time here. She’s a pretty girl, Steven. If I didn’t know any better--”

He cut her off, “Well, you do know better, alright?”

Kitty shook her head tauntingly, and took her hands off her hips. “Oh, alright. You’re free to go.”

-

Before you knew it, the sound of Hyde bolting down the stairs was shattering your ears. Immediately, he took his place in the lawnchair right of the couch, and was interrogated by his friends. God, this would be a quick evening. The dark skinned boy you’d seen at work piped up. “Who is your friend?” The way friend rolled off his tongue, you got the hint, and wondered how many people thought that.

“Guys, this is the friend I met the other day at Fatso Burgers, Y/N, everyone. Everyone, Y/N.”

Eric, a scrawny, brown haired boy exclaimed, as if he’d just solved some big puzzle, “Oh! So that’s where I’ve seen you before. You were in the newspaper for honor roll at the end of the semester last year, yeah?” You nodded.

Oh, great. So they’re going to know you as a nerd.

The shaggy haired model boy, Kelso, added in “Oh, so she’s one of those smart people?”

Jackie looked over at him. “I thought you didn’t like smart girls?” You'd never seen her outside of school before, but who could avoid knowing her name? She was a royal snob, everyone had the displeasure of encountering her at one time or another. 

“I don’t!” He defended himself, jumping at the girl’s shrill, whiny voice.

You shook your head, realizing the miscalculation you’d made. No, a long, long evening indeed.


End file.
